Back-In, Full-Out
by Jeez Louise Woman
Summary: COLLEGE AU ** Sandy McIntosh wouldn't say that she's been running from her past. Actively avoiding it, yes, but not running. But her Junior year at NYU is bringing up more bad memories and forcing her to confront the past she's tried to forget. Are she & her friends really in as much danger as she thinks? Or is she just being overly paranoid & denying herself the luxury of romance?
1. Frank

**A/N: HI I AM AWFUL FOR STARTING ANOTHER PROJECT WHEN I HAVE TWO STILL IN PROGRESS. I actually have more than 2 in progress but these are the only ones I plan on posting online as of right now so. Oh well!**

**Anyway hello again! I didn't want to post this in two separate Fandoms (which I still might do honestly just for more exposure), so I just did a crossover since it does contain a lot of AOS and Marvel Movie characters. Plus one or two Netflix series characters. ;) Did I go overboard in trying to include as many MCU characters as possible? Yes? Whatever.**

**This story is my College AU involving my OC Sandy (from my other story The Motley Crew) that just came to me on a whim a couple weeks ago. And the idea was too good not to write down, so here we are.**

**By the way, the title is a gymnastics move in a tumbling pass. You can search YouTube or Google for a visual of it because I'm shit at describing it. I'm also shit at describing characters and scenery, but I'm gonna _try _and practice in this fic. Sorry in advance lmao.**

**Finally: rated T for language, crude jokes, implied sexy times but nothing shown past kissing, some violence later, some PTSD and related stuff. Starts out light, but will get a bit heavier as the series goes on.**

**As always, I hope y'all enjoy! **

* * *

**Mid-September, Monday, 8 am - Ethics in the Criminal Justice System**

_God, shit, fuck. I can't believe I'm late for class._

When the hell has this ever happened in her entire life? Oh, right: never. Especially not to this class. Ethics in the Criminal Justice System may not be a requirement for her major, but it had come highly recommended from Jessica, of all people. So Sandy was for damn sure taking it.

As she sprints across the Quad, throwing out half-assed apologies to other students she nearly bowls over, she wonders why on earth the universe decided that today would be the day she overslept. She never had trouble with waking up early before, even if she didn't set her alarm. All throughout middle school, high school, and now well into her junior year of college, she'd been waking up at the ass crack of dawn to work out. Or study. Mostly workout. Elite level gymnastics requires a lot of physical strength, after all.

And she's always been unusually early to 8 am classes. Enough so that her professors, if they happen to show up early as well, always say something about it. Her usual response is just to say _the early bird gets the worm_ or _just eager to learn_ to avoid further questioning. So, as much as she loves attention, she doesn't want to have to face the music should, for some ungodly reason, the professor pull her aside and ask why she's late. Or if he announces it to the whole class. It's not like he's ever done that before, but it still worries her a little bit. And Sandy McIntosh _hates_ worrying.

The Fates better have a good reason for this morning.

She skids to a halt right in front of the classroom door, taking a second to wipe the beads of sweat and few stray strands of blonde hair off her face. Thank god she's really good at quickly making decent braids, because at least she's not showing up looking like a total mess. Not that that matters, really. A deep breath, and she pushes the door open casually. She's got a whole minute and thirty seconds before class officially starts. Almost perfect timing.

Sandy starts to make her way to the front of the room, but she stops short once she sees a body in a space that shouldn't be occupied. Some asshole has the audacity to sit in her seat! Well, it's not an assigned seat, but she's been sitting there for the past four weeks, so it's safe to say that it's _her seat._

"Motherfucker," she hisses under her breath. She puffs her cheeks out briefly, prepping for the type of confrontation she's never shied away from, but then something catches her eye.

An open seat. Next to someone who just barely stands out from everyone else, despite the fact that this isn't a general education class—where you'll find people from all walks of life. Short black hair that's just puffy enough on the top that it makes her want to run her fingers through it. Nose that looks like it's been broken one too many times. Dark, perceptive eyes. And a jawline that looks like it belongs in Hollywood. Sandy's eyed him a couple of times before, but he's usually right on time to class—expertly slipping in just seconds before the timer on Professor Garner's desk goes off—or darting out at the end of class faster than she can blink. And Sandy blinks pretty fast. So this is her first good look at him. And she decides she wants a closer one. He is kinda handsome, after all.

"Morning," she greets cheerily as she plops down next to him, pulling out her laptop.

He inclines his head towards her slightly and replies in kind, "Mornin'," in a low, gravelly voice that she instantly decides she likes. A brief glance is all he gives her before he roots his attention back to the front of the room.

Before she can strike up a real conversation—she's going to ask why he's got a notebook and pen rather than a laptop, like everyone else—the timer goes off and Professor Garner calls out for attention. She snaps her mouth shut and studies the man for a few seconds before following his gaze. He looks slightly older than a typical college student, so she adds that to her list of questions to ask him. Sandy's always been nosy as hell, and today is no exception. Though she'll wait for the inevitable lulls in the lecture to actually talk to him; Garner doesn't always stay on track. This is an _ethics_ class, after all.

It's not a long wait for the first student to derail the conversation, so Sandy takes the opportunity to lean slightly to her right and whisper, "So, do I get to know the name of my new seat mate?"

The man casts her a look as if to ask why she wants to know him at all, then nods towards the front. "You not gonna go back up there next class?"

She grins at him. "Observant, aren't we?"

He purses his lips nonchalantly. "Habit. And you are kinda loud."

Sandy swallows a laugh, then winks at him. "I'm not apologizing for that. Someone's gotta tell these other idiots when they're wrong."

His soft snort is the only thing she allows before she continues.

"And no, I think I'll stay here the rest of the semester. You look like you could use a friend."

"Who said I wanted one?"

"Oh, _want_ and _need_ are two different things, my dear."

"That right?"

"That's right. I'm Sandy, by the way."

He quietly studies her for a moment with his dark brown eyes, lips threatening to turn up at the corners. She doesn't break eye contact, allowing her to practically see the gears turning in his head, deciding whether or not to accept her invitation. With other people she's met in her life, she doesn't usually give them a choice on becoming friends. But the hesitancy she's seeing in this man now, how naturally withdrawn he seems to be… she decides that if he doesn't want to, she won't press him. She'll let him come to her on his own, if at all.

Just before she starts to turn her attention back to the professor, he offers his hand. "Frank."

She flashes him one of her signature infectious grins and takes his calloused hand, giving a firm shake. "Nice to meet you, Frank."

"Likewise."

"Okay," Garner announces rather loudly, pulling all the attention back to himself, "I think we should probably move on from _that_. Today's topic is supposed to be about jury selection and participation, so let's at least try to stay on track, hm?"

Well, being (almost) late today had a perk after all. Maybe the Fates do have something in mind.

* * *

Throughout class, Sandy's sure to keep a discreet eye on Frank. If she wasn't so good at reading people, she wouldn't have been able to tell that he was keeping an eye on her, too.

Once Garner signals that class is over, Frank makes quick work of packing his minimal belongings away. He's about to leave with a curt nod, but Sandy's already stood up and blocked his way out. There's momentary surprise on his face, likely at how fast she is, but he quickly settles for raised eyebrows.

"I didn't have time to make coffee this morning, and I've got a long ass day. Wanna come get some with me? I'll pay," she asks breezily. She's prepared for him to decline, which means she'll have to wait until Wednesday to get him talking about himself. But she still offers anyway.

"Sure," he concedes, to her surprise. A shrug, then he stands up as well. "Who am I to turn down free coffee?"

"Great! Starbucks?"

"No."

"Oh, so you're _that_ kind of coffee drinker." She winks at him. Frank remains unaffected, but the amusement in his features doesn't fade. "Diner across the street, then?"

He nods, and ten minutes later they're sliding into one of the booths in the back corner of the diner. She let him lead the way and isn't surprised he picked a great vantage point. Normally, she doesn't like having her back to entrances, but he seems to have things covered, so it's fine this time.

And it strikes her as odd that he makes her feel this at ease. Like he's got her back should anything bad happen, despite his reserved nature. And the fact the only thing she knows about him is his name and that he's ex-military (it's impossible to miss that in the way he carries himself). For now, she chalks it up to the fact that he kind of reminds her of her brother. Right down to the order of straight black coffee, eggs, and bacon. She pushes that thought away quickly.

"I only said I was paying for coffee," she teases once the waitress has left.

"Well…" He lolls his head to the side. "Now you're paying for breakfast, too."

"Guess so. Ready for some 20 Q?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"I dunno, do you?"

"Why am I the one answering questions?"

"Oh, I don't mean that _Whose Line_ game of Questions Only. But, to be fair, I'll answer that. You're the one who looks more… out of place than I do. Not in a bad way. Just—"

It clicks for him. "People who take that class look more like you. Or that scrawny kid who stole your seat." He doesn't sound offended, and he's not telling her no on the 20 Q's.

"Exactly." She points an approving finger at him. "So what branch of the military were you in?"

He seems taken aback by the fact she can tell, but only for a second. "Marines."

"Rank?"

"Lieutenant."

"When did you enlist?"

"Right outta high school."

A hum of acknowledgement is all she gets out before the waitress brings their coffees. Frank gives her a pleasant "thank you, ma'am." Man's got some real manners. And so far, it seems like he drinks his daily dose of Respect Women Juice. She gets the sense he's not treating her any different just because she's a young, pretty college girl. Even though he doesn't look more than… maybe five years older than herself. But it's best to be cautious with men of any age.

Sandy's already awake enough to function, but the first sip of her usual sugary cup sends a pleasant warmth through her veins, and soon she'll be firing on all cylinders. She basks in the feeling for a moment before returning her attention to Frank. Who has already downed half his cup and is casting a disdainful look at the empty sugar packets she's piled off to the side. "So, how long you been out?"

"Couple months."

The thought of asking just why he left is there, but she pushes it aside. Too early in the friendship for that. Plus, she has a good guess at the answer. "Major?"

"No, Lieutenant."

She throws her head back, chortling, "Oh, good one. I think I like you already."

Frank smirks and nods approvingly. "Building and Construction."

"Ah. Something they don't necessarily teach overseas. Well, not often, anyway. What made you choose that?"

He purses his lips nonchalantly. "Like building things. Government's paying for my school, and I've got a growing family to provide for. Seems like the logical option to me."

She'd already made a note of the ring on his finger, but she'll get to that later. "So what're you doing in an Ethics class?"

"It's an elective course, figure it might be worth something."

"Fair." She takes a long sip of her coffee and stifles a snort when he does the same. "What's with the pen and paper?"

A shrug, followed by, "Old fashioned, I guess."

"You guess?"

"We weren't allowed laptops in high school, so it just feels weird for me to have one now."

Sandy hums. "Last name?"

"Castle."

"Mind if I call you _your highness_?"

"Please don't."

"You're right, doesn't fit you. I'll save that for the dude in my politics class."

He leans back into the booth and throws a muscular arm over the back of the seat. "You got ten more."

"Wh—oh, true. Better make them count, eh?" Honestly, she hadn't realized he'd been counting. "Don't count that one, Lieutenant Castle." He holds his hands up in surrender. "Where you from?"

"Here."

"Explains the accent. What part?"

"Hell's Kitchen."

"Second person I've met here from Hell's Kitchen. But I'm not sure you two would get along…" She shakes her head and continues. "How long you been married?"

"Four years."

"Kids?"

"Two, and one of 'em's on the way."

It's blatantly fucking obvious from his voice and the glimmer in his eyes that he really loves his family, and Sandy can't help but grin. It's _adorable_. "You're cute, you know." Something crosses his face, but she doesn't know for sure what it is. She's got a pretty good idea, but doesn't press. "Favorite band?"

Again, he's slightly startled by the question seemingly out of left field, but he recovers quickly. "Springsteen."

"Normally, I'd say there's no right or wrong answer to that question, but dude, that's the _only_ right answer."

He laughs, nodding in definite approval. "Glad to see you've got some taste."

"Oh, I have the best taste in everything." She takes another sip, and he rolls his eyes lightly. Even though she's known him, what, less than two hours, it's not an annoyed motion. More fond than anything. She can already tell they're gonna be great friends. "Ever seen him in concert?"

"Oh hell yeah. Once in high school, then last year. Anniversary gift from my wife."

She spends her last four questions asking him menial things. Conveniently, mere seconds after his answer of _Lombardi's_ as a favorite pizza place leaves his mouth, the waitress arrives with their food. Sandy immediately digs into the large bowl of fruit, opting to save her hashbrowns for last. It's her favorite type of dessert regardless of the time of day. Something Sharon always mentions is weird, which Sandy doesn't mind. She embraces her own weirdness. And Sharon and Nat, her roommates, love her for it.

Frank, on the other hand, opts to switch back and forth between the bacon and eggs. He also eats like his life depends on it, though it's just shy of being gross and weird. The waitress returns a short while later to refill their cups, then Frank decides to break the silence.

"Are you expecting something out of this?" He makes a small waving gesture with his fork.

She frowns at him thoughtfully for a moment. It's obvious what he means, and what he'd say in response: _if you wanna mess around with a married man, look somewhere else_. Normally, she might be offended, but she thinks she's got a pretty good read on his personality. He's just testing the waters, testing her. And it's fair. "Besides a friend and potential study buddy, no."

He stuffs another piece of bacon in his mouth and studies her for a second. Deciding that she's serious, he gives a small nod. "Pretty sure you could pass by yourself."

She pops a grape into her mouth theatrically, smirking. "Again, very perceptive. But I wasn't talking about myself."

"Oh, is that how we're doing this?"

The smirk turns into a face-splitting grin. "That's exactly how we're doing this."

He chews his food for a moment or two, without breaking eye contact, before asking, "Do I get to ask questions now?"

Another grape lands gracefully in her mouth, then she spreads her hands out in front of her. "Ask away."

"Last name?"

"McIntosh."

"How'd you know I was military?"

She tries not to let her expression falter when she answers, looking down at her bowl again. "Brother. Ex-Navy. Easy to spot in other people when you've seen it up close."

When she looks up again, she can tell he caught her shift. "Okay," is all he says, almost too quiet for her to hear. Then, louder, "Major?"

"No, Petty Officer."

It's Frank's turn to laugh heartily. He seems much more relaxed now that he knows her intentions. "Walked right into that one."

"That you did, dear. That you did. Double Major, actually. Engineering and Computer Science."

He shakes his head, still smiling. "Impressive."

She leans forward and lowers her voice as if she's trying to tell him a secret. "Wanna be even more impressed?" When he jerks his chin slightly in an affirmative, she grins. "I'm also on the gymnastics team."

"Do you have any free time?"

"Four months out of the year, no. I spend the other eight prepping for those four. Free time's a precious commodity."

"So, in reality, _I'm_ not the one who needs a friend. You are." He points his fork at her for emphasis.

"Maybe," she drawls, "I'm just letting you think that."

He smiles and stuffs the last piece of bacon in his mouth. "Sure. You from California?"

"Very good, Castle. Very good." It should impress her more that he's able to figure that out, but really, she knows what she sounds and looks like. She doesn't have as thick of an accent as some her friends growing up (besides when she uses the words "hella" and "dude"), but her sun-kissed skin is almost the same shade as it was when she left three years ago. And she assumes Frank's met some people from California before.

"What made you move all the way out here? Why not Stanford or some other big college closer to home?"

She averts her gaze again as she replies, lathering her hash browns in ketchup. "Best friend got a scholarship. Figured I needed a change of scenery. Get away for awhile, all that. This isn't a bad school by any means. And Sam needs someone to take care of his ass. So, here I am."

As she takes her first bite of her delicious _dessert_, she meets Frank's gaze again, finding that his eyebrows are raised in disbelief. "You followed some boy across the country?"

Sandy chuckles and rolls her eyes. He's already got that fatherly tone down pat. "Sam's not some boy I'm hopelessly in love with. First, I don't do that anymore, so jot that down." Even though her mouth is still full of food, she keeps talking so Frank can't ask what she means by _that_. "Second, Sam's gay. And I think he met some guy that caught his eye recently. I haven't met him yet, so I can't know for sure, but still. And third..." She swallows, then takes another slow, mostly unnecessary sip of her almost finished coffee, letting the anticipation build a little. She's nothing if not dramatic. "I came out here because I wanted to. Nobody makes me do anything I don't want to."

If Frank's expression is anything to go off of, the answer satisfies him. "Okay."

"Besides, been here too long to back out now, even if I did regret it. Which I don't."

"You gonna move back home after you graduate?"

She bobs her head from side to side. "Not sure. Guess I'll just go where the job takes me. I'd like to do something worthwhile with those expensive pieces of paper I'm gonna get. A friend offered me a place with his family's company."

"Think it'll make you happy?"

"I mean, they work on renewable energy, prosthetic limbs and the works, real futuristic stuff. They help people. So, yeah, probably. Doesn't hurt to try, at least."

Frank hums and takes one of the numerous looks around the diner. As if he's searching for something. Or nothing. Sandy can't really tell, but she knows why he does it. "Sometimes that's all you can do."

"Sometimes that's all you can do," she affirms. "Got any more questions?"

"Not today." He looks back at her, something akin to fondness in his eye. "I'm sure as the semester goes on, you'll tell me more than I wanna know."

"You are most definitely correct, dear."

* * *

**A/N: It's obvious but I feel the need to blatantly point out that her relationship with Frank is purely platonic. **


	2. Team Cap

**A/N: I have several chapters written already, but I'm gonna try to spread them out to once a week, maybe slightly more often. **

* * *

**Mid-September, Saturday**

Well, Sam's up unusually early.

Earlier, in fact, than Sandy. Which is the second odd thing her brain registers. The first being that he's loudly banging on the door, hollering, "Wake up. Beauty sleep ain't gonna help you look any less horrendous," instead of just barging in like usual.

"Jealousy's not a good look, Willy," she fires back, though her voice is still a little scratchy. The grumble of disapproval seeps through the doorway, but she doesn't give him time to mention for the millionth time that he hates that nickname. "What fucking time is it?"

"It's past nine."

"Nine?" _Twice in a week? Fuck. Guess I gotta start setting my alarm again. _Sandy sits up and rubs her temples soothingly, hoping it'll do something to get rid of the dull headache that's threatening to get worse. She wishes it was just the alcohol's fault this time, but unfortunately that's not the case. And it's not like she has any real commitments today because it's Saturday; the football team's on a bye week, she's already finished her homework due Monday, and it's a rare day off from team activities for her and Nat. So by all accounts, she can sleep in with no consequences and she shouldn't feel guilty. But it's the principle of the thing: she's always up early. Maybe she should look into—

"Get up, we have guests."

"You're not a guest, Sam. You're a nuisance. And you don't live here." Natasha. Speak of the devil. The sound of shuffling feet and half-hearted muttered curses follow, then a soft, "You decent?"

She considers telling her yes, but she's not sure Nat wants to see her sitting up in bed with nothing covering her except her blanket, which is pooled at her hips. So she calls out, "Nah, gimme a sec," and slowly climbs out of bed. Her own shit can wait; Sam and whoever he brought around are more important. And it lets her put off cleaning up her mess of a room in the meantime.

"Take your time. I assume that guy's long gone by now. What was his name, anyway?" Nat asks, audibly slurping her coffee from the other side of the door.

It's a moment before she can properly remember, pausing briefly while digging through her drawers. "Uh, Grant Ward. Called him _Grant_ last night and he was like, 'No, call me Ward,'" she replies, deepening her voice to mock him.

"Yikes." She rhymes the word with _Nike_. "He sounds fun."

"That's a way of putting it."

"So I guess we won't be seeing him around anymore?"

"Nope. Who in their right mind wants to be called specifically by their _last name_ during sex?" A quick yank upwards, and her shorts settle against her hips. "He wasn't, like, a bad lay, per se—" there's a satisfying snort on the other side of the door "—but he wasn't the _let's do this again sometime_ kinda lay. A true one night stand. Maybe I should turn up the charm on that girl in my computer class. Hopefully she's not that weird." She finally tugs on her hoodie, runs her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame the damn thing, snags her phone from the nightstand, and swings open the door. Nat's usually impassive face is full of amusement, and partially hidden behind an outstretched coffee mug. "Thank you, baby. You're an absolute angel," she coos, taking the cup gratefully. And Nat does look like one. The sunlight streaming through the living room windows is hitting her shockingly red hair at the perfect angle; she's practically got a halo around her head. If she was more awake, Sandy might make some sly comment. But another voice would have drowned her out anyway.

"Hey! I thought _I_ was _baby_!"

Nat gives the smallest of smiles, which Sandy returns. They both turn, perfectly synchronized, to face Sam in the living room, arms crossed indignantly and pouting adorably. Because of course.

"You want a copyright on that, you're gonna have to pay me. And I'm not cheap," she replies sweetly before eyeing the two men on either side of him.

_Oh, fuck me_.

On Sam's left is a rather tall drink of water. Short blonde hair, baby blue eyes, soft but chiseled features, broad shoulders and chest stuffed into a tee shirt that's a teeny bit too small. Probably on purpose. He looks too perfect, like he was created in a lab or something.

"Sandy, this is Steve," Sam announces, gesturing to the blonde.

_Ah, these are the dudes he's been running into lately on his runs. Is one of them the one he keeps texting?_

"And this walking trash bag is Bucky." Sam gestures to the guy on his right, who shoots him a perturbed look.

Trash bag is _not_ the right descriptor. At all. He's about Sam's height, maybe slightly taller. A little slimmer than the other two, but it's easy to tell he's ripped as well. Bright, icy blue eyes stand in stark contrast to his longer, dark brown hair. He offers her a shy smile and nod. He looks almost too good to be real, too. Like the gods themselves took their precious time sculpting him. Particularly that jawline of his. _Oof. _

Sam _really_ needs to stop introducing her to such beautiful people. Not that Sam himself isn't beautiful as fuck as well, but still.

"Bruh, please. You cannot bring two more attractive men into my apartment after I've already kicked out one. I'm still tired, Sam."

There's a familiar collective groan, but the first to speak up is Sharon, who's nursing her own cup of coffee in the kitchen.

"Sandy," she chastises. Is that… jealousy in her voice? Sandy discreetly raises an eyebrow at the blonde.

Oh. _Oh_. So _this_ is the Steve she mentioned the other day. Well, she'll leave him well enough alone.

"Girl, you can't do that yet. You're gonna scare them off," Sam says next, frowning at her with somewhat fond exasperation.

She supposes he's right. Steve and Bucky are a touch on the side of uncomfortable. To ease the tension a little bit, she laughs and waves her hand apologetically. "Right, sorry boys. I haven't finished my coffee yet. No filter in the morning."

"You don't ever have a filter. I should know."

"You should know?" Sharon challenges. "You may have known her longer, but you're not the one who lives with her."

Sam makes a face. "Yeah, you got me there." He turns fully to Sharon and looks completely serious, hand over his heart. "I am _so _sorry."

Sandy rolls her eyes, ignoring Nat's barely-concealed chuckling, and strides across the living room. Once she stops in front of them, she sticks out a hand for their guests. "Don't fucking listen to them. I'm the fun one, they're the sticks in the mud."

The first to take her hand is Steve, whose handshake is even stronger than Frank's was. She cocks an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. "Nice to meet you," he greets pleasantly. He's still a little pink in the cheeks. It's endearing.

"Likewise." He releases her hand, and almost instantly, Bucky takes it.

"How have you put up with Sam for so long?"

The question startles her for the briefest of moments, but Sam's bellow of, "Hey!" makes her throw her head back and laugh so hard she can't respond properly for a moment.

"Oh, Samington, _baby_," she manages finally, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, "we're keeping this one."

"Fucking _hell_, now there's two of them." Throwing his hands in the air, he makes his way into the kitchen. Likely to steal some of the cupcakes Nat made last night.

Bucky looks especially proud of himself, and even Steve is having trouble not smiling.

"It's cause we love you!"

"Too bad, because I hate you."

"To answer your question, Bucky, he grows on you after a while. In reality, he's actually very nice. Plus he's pretty to look at."

Bucky makes a face, but is still smiling nonetheless. "If he's your type, I guess."

"I am everyone's type, Barnes."

Sandy keeps her mouth shut, but she hears Natasha snort again.

"Sam. Bucky. Please?" Steve asks, sounding very much like an extremely exasperated mother. As a matter of fact, his tone reminds her of Dan from Game Grumps. Though she's not sure Steve looks like he'd get that.

"Hey, Sandy?" Sharon asks, trying to get everyone back on track. Sandy hums for her to ask away. "Are you okay to go out like that?"

She's not asking it to sound mean. Sharon knows she probably hasn't even bothered putting a bra on (she's right). And it's not like they all haven't gone out in shorts and a hoodie plenty of times before. It's _college_. So, looking down at her clothes, she decides that if Sharon's actually asking that and they're going out— "Wait, going out?"

Sam's shoving the rest of a cupcake into his mouth when he answers, "Drunk me bought a Groupon for IHOP and it's All You Can Eat Pancakes this week. Needed at least six people." Sharon swats at him for spitting chunks of food on her accidentally, so he gives her an apologetic smile.

"Well drunk you is both a genius and an idiot."

"Yeah, _genius_ because it's a great deal, but _idiot _because these two are gonna get us kicked out."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steve looks totally confused when all eyes land on himself and Bucky.

"Remember the last time we went to that endless pizza deal night at Bleecker Street?" Bucky says, turning to Steve.

"I don't remember us getting in trouble? I mean I did panic 'cause I thought my phone got stolen, but Sam wasn't with us and that's hardly—"

"No, not—fuck, not _that_ time. He means that we eat a lot. And even though I hate to agree with him, he's right." Now Bucky sounds like the tired one.

"Oh! Okay, yeah, you're right."

"Then why did you invite them?" Nat asks Sam as she deposits her mug into the dishwasher. It startles Sam because she's so damn quiet all the time and he hadn't noticed her even enter the kitchen, but Sharon's so used to it that she doesn't react. "We could have asked Karen, Wanda, and Elena across the hall. Made it a girl's day."

Sandy can tell Sam likes the sound of that, but it's already too late to rescind the invitation. Besides, she'd object. She's been waiting for Sam to bring these two by for too long to let the opportunity slip by.

Sam shrugs. "Figured I'd finally introduce everyone. Properly. Now, go get dressed Sandy. I'm hungry."

"Hi, hungry, I'm—"

"Shut. Up."

* * *

"So, how'd you two meet?" Sandy asks, gesturing between Bucky and Steve. She's situated squarely between Sam and Bucky on purpose. If Sharon's got a crush on Steve, she'll need a slight push in order to act on it. And from the limited interaction she's seen, Bucky and Sam often need a buffer. Steve seems like the usual sacrificial lamb, but Sandy's clever enough to maneuver herself into the seat first, forcing him to sit across from her, in between Nat and Sharon. The latter gives her _a look_, to which she responds with a discreet wink.

"We were, what, six?" Steve looks at Bucky for confirmation.

"_You_ were six. I invited everyone in the class to my birthday party. You and like three other kids showed up, but they left early 'cause of some bullshit excuse. I don't remember." Bucky shrugs. "You haven't left my side since."

Steve rolls his eyes. "No, _you _haven't left _my _side."

"Well, someone's gotta keep you outta trouble."

"I'm capable of handling myself."

"Well, you're less likely to get your ass handed to you now, but I seem to remember a very scrawny kid going to the nurse's office all the fucking time."

"You were there, too!"

"Because you were getting beat to shit and I had to step in! Every time!" Bucky tries to sound annoyed, but it comes out as a poorly suppressed laugh. "You couldn't fight to save your life. Literally."

Before Steve can retort, Nat leans forward and asks, "So why were you getting into fights all the time?"

Sandy glances at Bucky and finds that his mouth is clamped shut. Though he's got this twinkle in his eyes as if he knows the answer, but would like to watch Steve stick his foot in his mouth.

"Someone has to stand up to bullies," Steve says, pride seeping into his voice.

Bucky bites his knuckles in an attempt to hold back his comment for the moment. In addition to both of these guys being incredibly hot, they're both _adorable_ and, so far, very entertaining. If she can't convince Sam to make a move on Bucky, Sandy's tempted to make one herself.

"Bullies?" Sharon tilts her head curiously.

When Steve turns to Sharon, Sandy notices a light blush spread over his cheeks. The table is small and he's very broad shouldered, so there's very little space between them. Sandy and Nat are fucking geniuses.

"Yeah, you know, like guys being jackasses to me and others, not taking no for an answer from girls, that stuff."

"So, it wasn't an attempt to, for some ungodly reason, prove yourself? Or impress that one girl you had a ridiculous crush on?" Bucky nods and gives a sarcastic smile. "Okay."

"Oh, shut up, Bucky."

Sam laughs, "He's not denying it!"

"Because he knows that'd be futile. He's not lying about not liking bullies, but he always went over the top when confronting them. So I'd always have to step in and finish what he started. He had such a Napoleon Complex. Minus the being an asshole part."

"I did _not_ have—"

Bucky points an accusing finger at him. "Don't even try and finish that sentence. You were smaller than my sister until Junior year in high school. Then, and only then, did you stop trying to pick so many fucking fights."

"I thought that Sam and Bucky needed to be physically separated, but honestly, I think you two are more of a problem," Sandy muses, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I'd like to point out," Bucky defends, lifting his drink to his mouth, "I have never started any of these fights. Well, that involve these two, anyway."

Sam's mouth opens to argue, but Steve, suddenly flipping his internal mediator switch, interjects with, "So how did all of you meet?"

An effective strategy, since it pulls all of the attention away from himself. And Sandy's almost always eager to talk about herself and her friends. "Sam and I went to high school together. Much less fist fighting than you two had."

"Though it wasn't for lack of trying," Sam mumbles. "And you did put Garrett in the hospital..."

She doesn't blame him for the slip up, she really doesn't. And she sees the panic and regret in his face immediately. The urge to completely shut down is strong, especially when everyone else has obviously noticed her stiff posture and frown.

_Not here, not now. We'll deal with this later._

The combination of Sam's hand running up and down her back and good ole Nat taking the reins, explaining how they all wound up together—Nat's on the gymnastics team with Sandy, while Sharon and Nat essentially have the same schedule since they're both Poli Sci majors—keeps her from totally withdrawing. Sandy nods at Sam, who gives her the best comforting and apologetic smile he can muster.

It doesn't take long before their order arrives and the boys start digging in. They weren't lying when they said they eat a lot. It helps, watching them banter with full mouths while Nat and Sam continue telling stories, some of which involve Sandy, but not all. She contributes when necessary, slowly making her way through her own plate. Sam quietly promises that they'll go spar later at the gym if she wants, since that sometimes makes her feel better; and she did miss her morning workout.

She doesn't miss the curious glances from Steve and Bucky, but she hopes she doesn't ever have to explain to them. The more people who think of her only as a slightly annoying but fun ray of sunshine, the better.

Besides, she really likes these two so far. Dampening their own bright lives with her shit is on her short list of things not to do.


	3. A Bet

**A/N: I have no idea how auto mechanics classes work so I'm just assuming that time is split between a classroom going over terminology and shit and the other half is in a shop doing hands on stuff; this segment is in the classroom; also this is the only class I didn't look up to see if it's real or the real title or whatever but this is MY story so it's my rules. ;P**

* * *

**Early October, Monday, 10 am - Auto Mechanics I**

"I know you're all probably not gonna be happy about this, but I'm gonna need you to get into groups." A collective groan rings out, reverberating in the almost overcrowded room. "That's what I thought. But I also think it's important to learn to work together on complicated projects. And make no mistake, this will be a complicated project. For most of you, at least."

Professor Coulson goes on to explain the basic parameters of the assignment—design and build a specific engine part from a list he hands out, get into groups of three, due at the end of the semester, along with a paper from each member of the group. Sandy half listens, mostly wondering why _this_ class is the one that has a group project. Most of her classmates are fucking idiots. She likes idiots, but not when there's a good chunk of her grade dependent on two other people.

_Fuck me in the ass_. _Why couldn't Peter and Shuri have picked this time slot, too?_

Propping her elbow up on her desk and placing her chin in her hand, she starts lazily watching everyone flit about to get into groups. She's certainly in no rush. More likely than not, someone will probably come ask her to be in a group, but she's hopeful that nobody actually will and she can just wind up working on this project alone. Coulson likes her enough that he might just let her. At least then she's guaranteed to get an A. Everything on the handout is fairly easy.

Sandy's good at picking people out from a crowd, knowing names and faces of people in her class. She's always aware of her surroundings. It's an unconscious habit that sometimes she wishes she could get rid of. Although, this isn't one of those times. Because the two guys she catches eyeballing her from the back of the class are the same ones she's been stealing glances at since day one. They're fine as hell, and at least they aren't total idiots. Probably the only two semi-capable ones in the class, if that assignment from the beginning of the semester is any indication. So maybe she'll take a chance with those two, but she's gotta actually talk to them first before making any final decisions. Who knows, they may just be another pair of idiots after all.

After a (rhetorical on her part) eyebrow raise that's met with a grin from the slightly smaller, dark skinned guy, she gathers her things and joins them. And learns very quickly that they are much taller up close than they look from far away. Then again, there's not many people on campus shorter than her. The lighter skinned, burlier one is at least a whole foot taller than her, and the one who smiled at her is only slightly shorter.

"So boys," she starts smoothly. The base of her skull is practically touching her back, she's tilting her head up so far to look them in the face. "What can I help you with?"

"Well," the bigger guy—Alphonso, she remembers—sighs, smiling pleasantly, "Coulson's given us a group assignment, and it looks like you're in need of a group."

"Maybe. I think I'm more than capable of acing this assignment by myself, though." They seem nice enough, but she's still gonna make them work for it. It's always more fun that way.

The other one, Antoine, laughs, shaking his head. "Oh, I don't doubt that. And we're pretty capable ourselves, but, uh, we figure it wouldn't hurt us to have some expert advice."

"Expert?" Oh, they are stroking her ego in all the right places.

Alphonso nods. "We did see your presentation the first week. You're miles ahead of everyone else here, not including us. You should be in a class two levels up already."

"I know, but this is required for my degree, and I've already put it off long enough, so…" A shrug. She really should have taken this freshman year, but the idea of being taught things she already knows was less than appealing. It still is, and is made worse by the fact that her other classmates are still just as green around the gills as they would have been two years ago. "Why are you two here?"

"Same reason, actually." Alphonso shrugs, too. "We've both been working on cars and bikes our whole lives. This stuff is easy."

"Didn't see the point in wasting our time in lower level classes, but," Antoine huffs, "apparently you can't just skip ahead."

Well, that does it. She already likes them, and if they've got experience, she won't have to do all the work, so this project should be a breeze.

"They should have proficiency tests for this shit, right?" she asks, throwing out her hand. "Sandy McIntosh, by the way. Guessing you already knew that."

Antoine gives her a bright, toothy smile, taking her hand first. And boy does she like his smile. "Antoine Triplett. But everyone calls me Trip."

"Oh, I bet you're a trip all right." She winks, and he laughs without breaking eye contact. Though she sees the faint hint of a blush on his cheeks. That's _real_ cute.

She turns her attention to Alphonso next, whose hand nearly swallows hers whole. "Alphonso Mackenzie. But you can call me Mack." He's not bad looking himself, either.

"Appropriate, like a Big Mac."

"I _like_ you," Trip laughs. And though Mack is trying to look slightly annoyed, it's easy to tell he shares the sentiment. Seems her natural charm is working well as usual.

"Well, don't fall in love too fast there, Casanova."

"No promises."

Able to flirt back? Excellent. At the very least, this might be one of the more fun group projects she's had to work on.

"Do I need to give you two some space?" Mack asks, joking. But his eyebrows are raised at Trip like he's not.

She slightly lowers her voice to a more suggestive tone and blinks. "Sounds like a swell idea to me."

Trip speaks at the same time she does, but he's nervously chuckling. "No—just, let's figure out which part we wanna take, please."

Mack rolls his eyes before turning his attention to the handout. "I'm up for whatever, but I don't like building batteries."

"Those are too easy, anyway," Sandy agrees. "We need to assert our dominance."

"Then how about one of these?" Trip suggests, pointing at the section of the page that should be labeled _Most Complex. _But Coulson would rather make things interesting. Normally Sandy might find that funny, but she guesses that some people might fail because they're biting off more than they can chew without realizing it.

"So let's take that one."

"That'll take some time," Mack points out. One look at his face reveals that it's just an observation. He wants to work on this one, too. The challenge excites him.

Trip's nodding as he speaks, "I'm game. Looks like we'll be seeing a lot of each other for the next few weeks."

"That doesn't sound like such a bad thing."

* * *

This particular Tuesday morning finds Sam on the ground before the sun has even begun peeking over the horizon, doing the set of crunches Lieutenant Colonel Fury has assigned them. Trip and Rhodey are to either side of him. They all know they could be holding each other's feet down to make it a smoother process, but they like to stay together during drills, so the faster they get done at the same time, the faster this workout will go. Sam himself is more than eager for the nap he has planned later, and the other two are moving a little sluggishly too. They probably shouldn't have drank so much last night, but hey, it was Rhodey's birthday. They're allowed to let loose every now and then.

Sam is cursing under his breath each time the wind picks up. Stupid broken coffee machine he has yet to replace. It's almost cold enough outside for long sleeves, but he wants the mildly chilly October air to provide the jolt he needs to stay awake. It's one of the only things that will work. That, and the light conversation he and the other two are having.

"Come on, boys! You're moving so slow! It's almost like you have hangovers or something."

Sam doesn't have to look up to know it's Carol Danvers. The blonde always has so much damn energy and nobody has any idea where she gets it. But he stopped worrying about that ages ago. And he's stopped being surprised when she finishes her reps before most of the others and comes to bug the three of them specifically.

"Leave them be. We got more important shit to do," comes Maria Rambeau's voice. Another not surprise is that Maria's right there alongside Carol. She's not endlessly bouncing around like her girlfriend, but she's just as physically capable, maybe even more. It's almost eerie how perfectly they compliment each other; where Carol's reckless, overly eager, and bold, Maria's calm, calculated, and reserved. More mature, too. Sure, Maria's got her own moments of rebelliousness, but she's definitely the reason they stay out of trouble most of the time. Most of the time. Sharon once said they have a sun/moon dichotomy going on. And it's true as shit. Sam's only mad he didn't think of that first.

So it's no wonder they're madly in love with each other. And it's sickening in a great way.

"Like each other?" Rhodey asks as he comes up to face them. He gives them an expectant look before quickly relaxing onto his back again.

Sam only makes it halfway through his crunch before he has to collapse onto the ground, he's laughing so hard. The line itself was great, but what really seals the deal is the contrast between Maria's utter embarrassment and Carol's mischievous grin. God, Sam loves James Rhodes to bits.

"Better make it a quickie if you wanna stay ahead of us, ladies. We're almost done here," Trip adds. Though he's having trouble keeping the laugh out of his voice.

"Fuck you, bye," is all Maria says before they're jogging leisurely back up the course towards the climbing ropes.

"I love fucking with them." Rhodey grins, returning to his crunches.

"Same." Sam follows suit a moment later, finally able to breathe right again. "So Trip, what were you saying about class?"

"Coulson gave us this group assignment yesterday."

"Ugh. Fuck group assignments. Did you at least get paired up with Mack?" Sam asks. He wonders why there's not the usual unhappy tone that's almost universally associated with talking about group work.

"Yeah, he let us pick, thank god. Got Mack and that cute girl."

Rhodey, unsurprisingly the first one to finish, sits up fully, one elbow resting on the knee he's got propped up. "What cute girl?"

"The one I told you about? Actually knows her shit already and is the only other person in class that didn't fail that first assignment." Trip sits up next.

"Oh yeah! And then you got pissed off 'cause Mack was telling you to keep it in your pants. Why didn't you ever go talk to her before now?"

Trip shrugs. "She's always in and out of class so fast I can never catch her."

This is starting to sound vaguely familiar to Sam, but not Trip's side of the story. He finishes his last crunch and lays on the ground for a minute while the other two talk, studying Trip's face in the meantime.

"What does she look like again?" Rhodey narrows his eyes.

"Blonde, pretty blue eyes, real short. And, like, surprisingly ripped. She wore this tank top to class one day and like, _damn_. She looks like she could probably kick my ass and I'd thank her."

Rhodey looks pointedly at Sam, eyebrows raised. "And this is for one of your mechanics classes, right?"

"Yeah…"

Rhodey's train of thought is obviously on the same track as Sam's, but he's been milking this for all it's worth. "So this girl got a name?"

"Sandy."

How in the fuck had he not put two and two together before?

Trip nearly doesn't hear Sam because of Rhodey's raucous laughter, and the fact that Sam's hands are now covering his face. "You have _got_ to be shitting me."

Trip is wildly confused. "Why are yo—oh. Shit. That's your Sandy? Talk about coincidences, man."

As Trip looks between the two, Rhodey begins shaking his head. "You two are fucking stupid." When he receives two sets of glares, he goes on, "You're two months into the semester and neither of you figured out they're in the same class? I mean, come on Trip, how common of a name is Sandy? And how often does Sam talk about the stupid shit she does?"

Sam exhales. "We could've been having this conversation last night if she didn't have mandatory practice."

"Oh, man, I would have loved to see that whole awkward mess. Would have really capped off my night perfectly," Rhodey chuckles, briefly distracted.

"Hey, I don't make things _awkward_!" Trip objects. "I bring the funk and the noise wherever I go." This is pointedly ignored by the others. "And in my defense, Coulson's only called her Sandra."

Rhodey gapes. "How many people do you know named _Sandra_? And how have you not seen any of the pics Sam posts with her?"

"Honestly, I'm not on social media that much at all. I literally don't remember the last time I was on Facebook."

Okay, yeah, he's not lying about that. His profile picture is from high school, for Chrissake.

Rhodey concedes to that, but adds anyway, "But really though. Dumb."

The three stand up and start off in the same direction Carol and Maria had gone.

"Hey, wait, so how come she didn't recognize my name?"

This gives Sam pause for just a second. "Oh, uh, because I don't ever actually say your name. I don't talk about you enough." Sam's only half-lying. He does talk about Trip, but generally he refers to him as "The Leech," because every time they go out to eat, Trip steals some of his food. Doesn't matter what Sam's eating. One time, he even stole several stalks of asparagus, despite the fact that Trip _hates_ asparagus, just because it was the only thing left on Sam's plate when he arrived.

Hence, The Leech.

Rhodey knows all of this, but doesn't say anything to contradict it. Instead, he opts to raise a knowing eyebrow at Sam. "You're not that interesting." Ganging up on Trip is one of their favorite pastimes.

Trip rolls his eyes. "Assholes, both of you."

"In all honesty, though, she never says anything about the class, just that she's bored. So I probably would have never known without this group work."

"I'm actually a little offended she never said anything about the two fine ass dudes in there," Trip grumbles lightly.

"I know Mack's one, but who's the other?" Rhodey asks, feigning seriousness.

"Eat a dick, Rhodes."

"Well, now that you're basically forced to talk to her, you gonna ask her out or anything?"

"I don't know." Trip side eyes Sam, who raises his eyebrows at Trip curiously.

Once he registers the look on his friend's face, he holds his hands up in surrender. "Hey, shoot your shot if you wanna, dude. She's a grown woman, she can make her decisions herself. But I'm just tellin' ya, she's a trip. No pun intended." Trip quietly snorts. "I love her to death, but she can be a bit much."

Rhodey looks thoughtful for a moment before adding, "I think you guys might fit well together, actually. You're both insufferable."

"Whatever, man," Trip grumbles. "All I really wanna do right now is pass the class. If she ends up fallin' in love with me, then hey, who am I to complain?"

"You've got some pretty stiff competition. She's been talking about this girl in one of her other classes. Bobbi, I think?" Rhodey looks to Sam, who nonverbally confirms. "Saw her when we had lunch one day. She's really pretty."

"I mean, Trip is a pretty handsome dude himself," Sam admits.

Trip looks proud of himself for a split second before he settles into a flabbergasted expression that Sam's trying _so_ hard not to laugh at when Rhodey goes on.

"Fifty bucks she shuts you down the second you try to make a move."

"Oh, I think I want in on this action." Sam rubs his hands together in an attempt to stave off a little of the cold, and because he secretly loves wagers. Plus, he's pretty sure of the outcome; Sandy doesn't _date_ anymore and she's not likely to start again anytime soon. Trip will be fine, and Sam's got some other girls in mind if he's up for it. "But to make it interesting, I think Trip should owe us a steak dinner each if—_when_ she turns him down."

"Even better!"

"Are you really doing this right now?" Trip nearly screeches. "This ain't fuckin' _10 Things I Hate About You_!"

"But they end up together at the end, so," Rhodey points out.

"This is reality, man, not an excellent movie. Do not bet on my dating life. Especially not when it involves your best friend, Wilson."

He shrugs. "I've known her too long. She ain't gonna care."

"Besides," Rhodey adds helpfully, "it's not _10 Things I Hate About You_. It's not like we're telling you to go after her and change her or anything. Just—is she gonna shut you down or not?"

"Everything after that is entirely up to you two."

Before Trip can argue any further—as if it would have helped, because Sam and Rhodey have already made up their minds—they reach the rope climbing course. Carol and Maria are already there, lounging about.

"You guys are slower than my grandma!"

Sam starts to wonder why she's so chipper when she drank just as much as them, but then realizes some mysteries will never be solved.

"We figured we'd give you time to get decent again," Rhodey teases.

"James, you say shit like that again, I'm gonna tie you down and let Goose have at you," Maria threatens. And she means business.

Rhodey's eyes widen, and Sam grins, throwing himself onto the ropes before he can get caught up in that mess. To put it mildly, Goose—Carol's cat—and Rhodey do not get along. And while Sam personally would love to see that, he figures it's best everyone keep their limbs for now. After all, Rhodey will probably need both hands if he wants to cash in on that steak Trip's gonna be paying for.


	4. Karaoke Night

**A/N: God I love writing Tony & Sandy. And the others that show up in this chapter, even though I feel like I can't write them too well. **

**Anyway, hope y'all enjoy!**

* * *

**Late October, Thursday, 2 pm - Machine Design Analysis**

"Hey, you all right?"

Tony's question catches her off guard. Smoke dissipates as she takes her finger off the trigger of the soldering iron. "Yeah… do I not seem okay?"

He's leaning against the workbench, and she can tell that he's studying her hard, even though his eyes are covered by the dark safety goggles. "You seem awfully focused on that circuit board."

Obviously, that's no reason for him to be concerned normally. Shit, he completely tunes out the rest of the world when he's working, too. So she assumes other things in her recent behavior have made him think something's amiss. But she doesn't want to get into that right now. "Uh huh. Well, this does take some concentration. Something you sorely lack sometimes."

The muscles around his goggles move, which means he's rolling his eyes. "You hardly ever pay this much attention to a simple circuit board, Dani." As in "Dani California", the Red Hot Chili Peppers song; a favorite of his to use. He has a never ending supply of nicknames for everyone in his life, and Sandy's no exception. It's one of the reasons she likes him so much: she does almost the exact same thing.

"And you never pay attention to the professor, Elon Musk." He rolls his eyes again, this time in disdain "I mean, I get it. He's boring as fuck and your phone is much more interesting. But still."

"He is boring, but this isn't about me."

"Isn't it always?" she fires back, smirking.

"But you do seem kinda off…" Scott adds from the other side of the bench.

Sandy puts down the soldering iron and looks between the two. "Is there something you're trying to get at?"

"When was the last time you got laid? Got drunk? Did something fun?" Tony asks, leaning forward.

Sandy's the one who rolls her eyes that time. "Two weeks ago. On all that. I have limited free time, you know. Besides, who says this isn't fun?"

"I do." Scott looks between them. "Fixing this broken radio isn't that exciting." He gets nothing from Tony and a light chuckle from Sandy.

"Well, that's two weeks too long. Come on, I'll take you out tonight." Tony nudges Sandy before looking at Scott. "Pissant, you wanna join too?"

Scott shakes his head and sighs ruefully, "As much as I want to, I can't. I promised the guys we'd go to that new Neo-Cubist exhibit downtown. It's more for Luis than anything, but still."

Tony shrugs, then turns his attention back to Sandy, though she's not paying attention to him just yet.

"Neo-Cubism? Luis? Huh."

"Yeah! He doesn't seem like it but he's actually really into art."

"Then I need to introduce you to this guy I met recently. Oh! And one of my neighbors. They're both art majors. Actually…" Now she's turning her attention to Tony. "You don't mind me bringing a couple extra people to your place next weekend, right?"

His penthouse is big enough to accommodate more people than he's actually invited, so he shrugs. "Sure, the more, the merrier."

"Cool." She turns back to Scott. "I'll introduce you guys there. Bring Luis. And don't judge them based on appearance. The guys, anyway. One of them looks like the living embodiment of the Republican Party's wettest dream, and his best friend, who will likely be glued to his side, looks like a stereotypical bad boy that rides his motorcycle down quiet suburban neighborhoods in the dead of night. But don't let all of that fool you. They're great." After a second, she adds, "Wanda looks like every other art student, so."

Scott squints at her. "I hate that I know what all of that looks like."

"I have a way with words, I know."

"Okay, good, now that that's settled, we need to get back to tonight," interrupts Tony. "Any team activities or plans to work on that group project?"

Sandy turns back to the circuit board and begins soldering again. "Nope." She pops the _p_. "Practice from 4-6 but nothing else. I was gonna maybe start on my paper for that project, but…" she shrugs as much as she can without messing up her work. They're already more than halfway done designing their engine part, and building it won't take long, so there's no need to meet up with Trip and Mack just yet. Even though she would like to hang out with them again outside of class and for any other reason that the project, they'll be at the party anyway. Instead, she was going to see if Frank and his family are free so she could take them out for pizza because he mentioned his wife has been craving it, but Tony seems desperate to do something together. She'll try again this weekend.

"Well now you do. Karaoke bar shouldn't be too crowded on a Thursday."

She shuts off the iron again since, conveniently, she's finished. "You know, I'm beginning to think that this night is more for your benefit than mine."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" Scott parrots.

"Okay, yes. I'm _bored_. Pepper's busy, Rhodey's busy, Happy and Bruce aren't partiers, and you're the only other fun person I know." He juts out his lower lip, pouting like a child and pointedly ignoring Scott's offended look. "Please?"

"We need to get you more friends," is all Sandy says as she scoots the circuit board over to Scott. It's his turn to rework the wiring.

"That's not a no, right?"

"That's a yes, Stark. I'll go out with you."

He flashes a bright grin. "It's a date then!"

She positions her safety goggles at the top of her head and raises an eyebrow at him. "Better not be. You're not my type, and I'm pretty sure Pepper would hang me by my entrails."

"You know what I mean, McIntosh."

"Hey, uh, hi. Lang over here. Can you two please pass me the correct wires now so I don't blow this up on accident?"

* * *

If it wasn't basically what he always wears, Tony's outfit would be _startlingly_ appropriate for the Karaoke bar that night. Blue jeans, black blazer that's shucked off the moment they sit down, Rolling Stones tee shirt, some (surely expensive and kinda ugly) sneakers. And, because the look wouldn't be complete otherwise, his signature sunglasses. That most of the time he doesn't take off indoors. Tony's very consistent in every day outfit choices. Though he cleans up nicely for the few formal events he attends for his family company, one of which Sandy was lucky enough to be invited to this past summer. It was fun, she had to admit. Mostly because Tony's always fun.

Which is why she almost never turns down an invitation to go out, even if it's just to drink whiskey and listen to people's often terrible renditions of classic songs.

"He's, uh, well…"

"Not the worst I've ever heard, but let's hope this is the only song he performs," Tony finishes for her.

She makes a face to show that she shares the sentiment. The curly-headed blonde guy on stage belting out "Come and Get Your Love" by Redbone isn't that awful, really. A little off-key, sure, but that's one thing Sandy can't and doesn't judge people on; she can't sing worth a single shit. And she likes that song. Which is a shock to both herself and others, since it's not something people expect her to like. Sandy does love being somewhat unpredictable. Maybe not in clothing choices, though, since she's wearing a simple long sleeve light blue crop top, high waisted black jeans, and matching Converse. Casual but flattering. She doesn't want to stand out more than she already does naturally tonight.

Not like the singer, who is now dancing like he's at his first middle school formal and he's trying to impress his date. Tony snickers beside her.

"At least he's having fun."

"Mhm. I like him. He's entertaining. Think I'll send him a shot later as a thank you for the show."

"Oh?" Tony's eyebrows quirk up. "Are you gonna leave before you've even gotten drunk? I brought you out here to do three things exactly: get drunk, have fun, and get laid. The latter is supposed to happen _last_."

Sandy resists rolling her eyes. "And here I was, thinking that you were gonna offer your own _get laid_ services."

"I'm too expensive for you, sugar."

"Damn right you are."

"What about him, though?"

"Not sure yet." She squints. "He's cute, yeah, but I'll have to talk to him first. I like stupid and goofy men, but, like, I do have standards."

"Is that why you haven't made a move on Lang—_ow_!"

"You say anything else bad about Scott, that sore shin will be the least of your troubles."

"You're surprisingly violent for someone so small." Tony rubs his shin with a scowl. He can tell she's serious. "If I didn't know you, I'd say you like him."

"I do, Tony. He's more likable than you." They're both her friends, and they both know it. But something about Scott makes her very protective of him. Probably because he reminds her of The Onion's infamous cinnamon roll article.

"Oooh," Tony hisses playfully. "Scathing. We need to put you up for the Comeback of the Year Award."

She snorts. Tony knows what she's going to say, but she gets it out before he can interrupt. "What, you mean like Kim Kardashian in that one video?"

"I hate you."

"Hey, you set yourself up for that."

"But you didn't have to say it."

"Look at me. Yes I did."

"Yeah, you're right. Forgot. For a moment, I thought I was talking to someone with class."

Sandy hisses, grinning, "Oooh, _scathing_."

The meager crowd's semi-unenthusiastic clapping draws their attention back to the stage. _Oh, he's done._ The blonde guy is bowing and looks incredibly proud of himself. Sandy claps as well as he descends the stage, stopping only when the waitress comes by to hand them their second round of whiskey. Well, whiskey for her, Scotch for Tony. She orders a round of tequila shots for herself, Tony, the blonde guy, and whoever's at his table. Surely he came with friends, right?

"You know, I'm not surprised at all by his friend choice. Except that those girls are so attractive," Tony muses a few minutes later.

They've followed the waitress' path and are now watching as she delivers the shots to a very surprised table. Sandy and Tony already have theirs, and they're easily seen from the blonde guy's table. When the waitress points over to them, she and Tony raise their own glasses in a toast. The confusion on the blonde's face deepens, but he and his friends throw back their shots with a smile. Then, the dark skinned girl with red tipped hair to his left motions for them to come over.

"Oh, don't mind if I do," Sandy mutters, smirking.

"Am I included in this?"

Sandy shoots him a look, one eyebrow raised. "Considering you'd make yourself invited regardless, yes."

"You're one to talk, you know."

"I do know." She tosses back the rest of her whiskey, relishing in the pleasant burn. "Come on, you megalomaniac."

"Again—"

"Pot calling the kettle black, blah blah blah."

"Thanks for the shots," the girl who waved them over says pleasantly.

"Yeah, but what the hell are they for?"

Sandy looks at the smallest guy of the group. He's close to her height, maybe an inch or two shorter, and has bright, inquisitive brown eyes that stand out against the dark rings around his eyes. He almost resembles a raccoon, and she ventures that he could easily go as one for Halloween with only a slight addition of black eyeshadow. Short black hair that seems to stick out in every direction completes the look, unintentional or not.

He yelps when the first woman kicks him under the table.

"Could you have a little more tact, Rocket?" she admonishes.

There's an interesting nickname she'd like to ask about. Then again, they all look like they have interesting stories to tell. The blonde and the largest guy are wearing tees that have some sort of foreign language on them that Sandy can't figure out. Interesting.

"What? It's a legitimate question."

The blonde guy scrunches his face at him. "Yeah, but you gotta be nice, dude. They bought us drinks, after all." He looks up at them and flashes a goofy smile. "By the way, I'm Peter Quill. You can call me either of those if you want."

No, she can't call him Peter. The freshman she tutors has the same name and it might get confusing. "I'll go with Quill. Sounds cooler." Sandy introduces herself and Tony, then takes a good long look at everyone as Peter introduces his own friends.

"The one with no manners is Rocket."

Rocket nods. "How ya doin'?"

"This is Gamora," Quill states, motioning to the girl to his right that waved them over. She offers a polite smile. "And this is her sister, Nebula." A girl sitting to Gamora's left simply nods. She's got much fairer skin than Gamora, a shaved head, and big, dark eyes that remind her a lot of Nat's: observant and intelligent. Gamora and Nebula must be adopted siblings.

"Oh! Me next!" the girl at the end of the table chirps, thrusting her hand eagerly up into the air. "Everyone calls me Mantis!" Her long black hair bounces as she does, and coupled with the giddy grin on her face, it becomes apparent that she's the youngest of the group. Her dark eyes match Nebula's in that they take up a large portion of her face, but she's got a lot more childlike wonder and enthusiasm behind them.

Next, the bald, rather bulky guy who almost looks sunburned speaks up. "Drax." He doesn't offer more than that besides a small nod. Perhaps the strong and silent type. Sandy nearly whistles at his Daniel Craig-like blue eyes. They're nice.

"I am Groot," is the final greeting they get, and Sandy's having a hard time placing his accent. And, even sitting down, she can tell he's extremely tall. Not as broad shouldered as Drax, but still a big dude. His skin tone is a little lighter than Gamora's, and, almost comically, it perfectly matches his spiky hair.

"That's about all the English you're gonna get out of him," Rocket informs.

"Well, I speak Spanish and some Mandarin?" Sandy offers.

"Yeah I don't speak anything but English." Tony's _very_ helpful.

Rocket shakes his head. "He's from some small country I always forget the name of. He understands us, but he just don't speak English real well."

"Fascinating," Tony whispers, but he's not being sarcastic. And Sandy agrees.

"So, now that we've all officially met," Quill starts and motions to the two empty seats next to him, "I guess I can ask, much nicer than Rocket, why you were so kind as to buy us a round?"

Tony nods to Sandy, but she's already answering.

"Your performance back there. Bold choice. A good one, but pretty bold."

"Thanks!" Quill beams. "Nothing past '79 is any good, but that seems to be the only stuff people here wanna sing. So I figured I'd bring some class back."

Sandy grimaces. "I mean, you're wrong, but I respect your conviction."

He falters, and his friends are failing to contain their amusement. "Wrong about what?"

It might not be best to be too mean to him at this point, so Sandy goes with the less offensive option. "About everything after '79."

"I mean," Tony cuts in, holding a hand up, "have you even heard _anything_ by Nirvana?"

"Yeah! Or Backstreet Boys? *NSYNC?"

"Radiohead?"

"Michael Jackson?"

"Queen? Def Leppard?"

"U2? Usher?"

"Well, uh, I don't do hip hop and stuff," Quill says, seemingly overwhelmed by Sandy & Tony's back and forth. The rest of the group is now snickering.

"Well, then, you should let me introduce you to my good friend Lizzo. She'll change your mind."

"Wait, you know Lizzo?" Mantis asks eagerly. Man, she's _adorable_.

"Oh, _I_ don't." Sandy places a hand on Tony's shoulder. "But I'm sure Tony here has the connections, whether he actively knows it or not."

"Is that the only reason you're friends with me? My real and potential connections?"

"Yes." Without hesitation and matter-of-factly.

"Gold digger."

"Mmm, you know, I can do better than you. T'Challa, for instance."

Tony sighs, defeated. "Okay, that's… totally fair. But my point still stands. Also, I think I'm cooler than him at least. Who else would take you to karaoke night where you meet awesome people such as these?"

"You're right about the cool people part." She winks at the group. "But the rest? Try again, Cory Hart," she scoffs, looking pointedly at the sunglasses he still hasn't taken off.

Tony rolls his eyes irritably, but tucks away his glasses anyway. Her smug grin is ignored as well.

"Wh—nevermind." Quill waves his hand. "Did we call you over here just so you could insult my taste in music?"

"Of course not. I told you I liked your choice, and I'm not lying about that," Sandy says sweetly.

Gamora places a gentle hand on his. "But he might actually need outside influence to expand his musical horizons. He won't listen to us."

"We like his music, but it does get dull after a while," Drax agrees.

"I am Groot." Groot nods.

Tony eyes Groot for a second before deciding not to ask. "I'm not telling you that your current taste sucks by any means, but I do think you need to branch out."

"How about you show him some of the classics?" Sandy encourages. When Tony looks at her, she nods towards the stage. They've been actively ignoring the guy currently singing "Wonderwall." He's somehow _worse_ than the original version. "Something better than what he's doing."

"Yeah, that's a terrible song anyway."

"What about a true classic: 'All Star'?"

A horrified expression crosses his face. "I am not singing that hot garbage."

"Whoa!" Drax interjects. "That song is not _hot garbage_. It's wonderful, and it smells nothing like hot garbage."

Sandy makes the _see?_ gesture from that Oprah .gif. "A classic. Thank you, Drax. But fine. Pick something else then."

"I have a suggestion," Nebula says. "Since he never lets us play our music in his car—"

"You guys are making me out to be a villain!" Quill pouts.

"No, we're not. You're just…" Gamora searches for the right word, "stubborn."

"A moron," Rocket says at the same time. Mantis giggles.

Sandy bites her lip to keep from laughing too. "Okay, well, Nebula, what's your suggestion?"

"'Crazy Train,'" she answers simply.

"Excellent choice!" Tony shouts. "I like you."

She shrugs. "You said Ozzy earlier, so I figured you might wanna sing that one."

Tony slips away to put in his request, and Sandy eyes Gamora and Quill in the meantime. They seem like they're a thing, so she decides maybe tonight she won't check off the third thing on Tony's list for her. Besides, she's been too distracted with thoughts about another person lately anyway that it probably wouldn't be that great for either of them.

And the rest of the group, while all attractive, yes, don't really strike her fancy. But this is fun anyway, and her light buzz is helping keep the dark corners from reaching out too much.

Her earlier assessment about interesting stories is very correct; their stories are wild. Much wilder than Tony's freshman year, which is saying something. Once, Rocket got into a fistfight with some guy in a Walmart parking lot who took issue with him stealing some batteries. And the guy was just another customer. Basically, they've all fought each other in one manner or another, except for Mantis, which isn't a surprise. She's a little angel. The stories pause as Tony tries to serenade the crowd with his decent version of "Crazy Train" so that they can whoop and holler. Quill seems to have enjoyed that song enough that Tony goes back up later to sing "Come As You Are." Everyone gets a little more buzzed after that, since he just keeps buying them round after round. But she finds that she likes their company, even if some of them do seem kind of like idiots. The good, lovable kind. Sandy gets a warm feeling all over.

So Tony was right: she needed this. But she won't tell him that just yet. Can't let his head get too big.


	5. Party Hardy

**A/N: What's a College AU without a party scene?**

**And I have plans later for her to interact with more of the people present at the party. **

* * *

**Saturday, Late October**

Parties at Tony, Happy, and Rhodey's lavish penthouse apartment in downtown Manhattan are one of Sandy's favorite things. It's always bright and beautiful, what with the floor to ceiling windows that encompass the entire common living area letting the city lights below dance across the space. The decor is high tech minimalist with surprisingly cozy furniture; plenty of guests fall asleep on the rugs and couches and never complain about being uncomfortable. It's actually very homey, even though it's not Sandy's style at all.

The place has five bedrooms, but the only reason Sandy and others haven't accepted an invitation to live with them, rent free, is because, well, it's Tony. And besides Sandy, only Rhodey and Happy can handle/really enjoy his antics. Sure, Sandy loves him, but life with Sharon and Nat is too good.

Plus, Rhodey has explicitly forbade her from moving in. "I can only handle so much genius-level chaotic dumbass, and I've known Tony longer," he'd said.

So she settles for occasionally spending the night when she inevitably gets too drunk to want to go home. She won't be the only one that night, she guesses. Everyone's been shamelessly taking extra shots with the excuse that they're celebrating Rhodey's birthday from two weeks ago—Sandy being one of them. Though, the apartment is a little less packed than usual. Tony likes throwing big parties that usually consist of _lots _of people Sandy doesn't know, but it seems like he's scaled back a little bit for this particular one. There's still a few faces she has to be introduced to, but this time, she actually gets through all of them. The usual attendees are here, which include Rhodey's Air Force ROTC buddies, the freshmen (Peter, Ned, MJ, and Shuri; they'll all likely crash in one of the spare bedrooms as usual, too), Sam, Sandy's roommates, Tony's girlfriend Pepper, Steve, Bucky, T'Challa (who happens to be Shuri's older brother and somehow knows Bucky already) and his girlfriend Nakia, Wanda, Bruce, and finally, Scott and his friend Luis.

Sandy has never met a human that talks as much and as fast as Luis. And she knows Tony Stark. And now Peter Quill. It's hard to top those two, but somehow, Luis manages to do it, all with a ridiculous grin plastered on his face. Even across the incredibly large living room, she can still hear most of his conversation with Steve, Wanda, and Scott. She can't make much sense of it, but she can hear it. It's only mildly distracting her from Bruce's friends.

There's Thor, a very tall, beefy, and handsome as fuck man who is like a cross between frat boy and English royalty. Loki, his adopted brother who dresses like the more mature emo kids she knew in high school but talks with a little more refinement than Thor. Then Val, who is probably the prettiest and strongest person in the room next to Thor—though, after about five minutes, Sandy decides that she has Thor beat on the pretty part. And last but certainly not least, Sif, who reminds her of a princess who moonlighted as warrior in ye olden times. Sif seems to have her shit together more than the other three, too; likely the Mom Friend of the group.

They're all very pretty and charming and Sandy is having _a time_.

Eventually, the group that had gathered to meet those four dwindles down to just Sharon and Sandy as the others disperse across the apartment. Nat and Sandy had arrived late due to a team dinner, so they missed the part where Rebecca (Bucky's younger sister that looks remarkably like him), Carol, Maria, Trip, and Mack had been introduced. She'll talk to them later. For now, she has things she needs to discuss with Sharon.

"As God is my witness, I'm going to kiss that man," she declares, watching as Thor walks off to grab another beer.

"Sandy, look, you can't just fuck every himbo you meet."

Sandy jerks her head to look at Sharon, mouth hanging open for a moment. "Hey! I don't—" She huffs for a second before composing herself. She knows she has a type preference. But, like most things, she doesn't like to be called out on it. "To be fair, I also wanna kiss Val and Sif. Loki's not my speed… And I didn't say I wanna _fuck_ Thor, Sharon."

"Look at him. You don't _just kiss_ that."

She has a point.

"You have a point."

"I know I do. And you have to admit that the guys I've met are all pretty much himbos." She gives Sandy a pointed look.

"Except Ward."

"I didn't meet him, so he doesn't count."

"True. But look, if I fucked every himbo I met, there wouldn't be any left on campus for you. Namely, Steve."

Sharon turns a rather lovely shade of red. "That's—Sandy!"

"What?" she asks innocently.

"He's not a himbo."

She gives her a pointed look and holds up her fingers as she ticks off the reasons. "Beefy as fuck? Check. Pure of heart as fuck? Check. Dumb as fuck? Check."

"Steve's not dumb."

"Sharon, he's dumb. He barely knows how to work the toaster and I heard him ask Bucky what kind of bird Toucan Sam is. Toucan. Sam. I think Bucky was ready to hang himself right then and there."

Sharon runs her hand over her face and heaves a defeated sigh. "I know, I know. But he's so _pretty_."

"There's no shame in being attracted to stupid people." Sandy pats her on the back.

But before she can say more, Bucky, who overheard most of that, clears his throat and adds, "And trust me, Steve is _very _stupid. By the way, Sandy? You're absolutely right. I have never wanted to yeet myself out the window more in my life than at that moment. There are times that come close. But that one definitely takes the cake."

"Jesus Christ on a cracker," Sharon mumbles, even more embarrassed now because Bucky _knows_. She's always been naturally reserved and shy. Especially when it comes to romantic feelings. So it's not surprising that _she's_ ready to yeet herself headfirst out the nearest window when she realizes Bucky, Steve's _best friend_, knows how she feels. He's obligated to tell Steve, right?

It's written all over her face and Sandy tries not to laugh.

"The only reason I'm not rotting in an unmarked grave somewhere already is because I'm afraid he'd end up sticking a fork into a socket if somebody convinced him it would save an orphan from starvation."

Sandy ignores Sharon's internal panic for a moment. Let her wallow a little bit. "Bucky Barnes, you're a good man," she says, clapping him on the shoulder.

"I try."

Sharon takes a deep breath through her nose and returns to her normal calm demeanor. "How did Steve even get into NYU if he's as dumb as you say he is?"

Bucky shrugs. "He's an art major, for one. That doesn't necessarily require a ton of AP or IB classes for admissions consideration. For two, he's actually fairly book smart. Just has no sense of self-preservation. Also no common sense. But he's really artistic."

"Also, how could you turn away that face?" Sandy motions across the room at the man of the hour. Currently, he's failing to hide his wide grin while listening to Thor ramble on about something excitedly. He has to shift slightly every now and then to avoid being hit by Thor as he gestures, seemingly unaware of just how much space he takes up. Steve seems genuinely interested in what Thor's talking about, even if his eyes are a little glazed over from the alcohol, which also adds to the pinkness of his cheeks. It's all very adorable.

Bucky heaves a defeated sigh, "He is pretty irresistible."

Sandy quirks her eyebrow up at him. "That reminds me. I've been meaning to ask if either of you two have someone special."

"Nah. Steve's really bad when it comes to flirting. Which sucks for him."

There's enough of a pause for Sandy to say, "Well, good, because Sharon's bad at it too, and there's nothing I love more than two hopeless, pining idiots," while winding her arm around Sharon's, pulling her close, and smirking up at Bucky.

Meanwhile, Sharon's giving Sandy a look that could kill a lesser person. "Sandy what the _fuck_—"

Thankfully, Bucky's already on the same track. "I really hoped I wasn't misinterpreting things." He is positively beaming at Sharon. "He thinks you're real pretty, too. Keeps randomly bringing you up in conversation."

Someone's gotta do something, and Sharon, the poor shy girl, sure as hell won't on her own. And according to Bucky, neither will Steve. So Sandy takes it upon herself. "Go, Share Bear. At least spend the night talking to him. Go have a few more shots if it'll help. Just do _something_."

Sharon doesn't budge when Sandy nudges her, only grumbles something unintelligible. It would seem she's not thrilled about the prospect of making a move.

"I'm an expert on Steve, so if he's not getting the hint, just give me the signal and I'll come help out," Bucky encourages with a smile.

A moment passes where her internal monologue plays out across her face, then, "Fine. But if this ends badly, I will gut both of you like a fish. I'll be nicer to you, Bucky, but Sandy…" She throws back the rest of her beer, takes a deep breath, casts Sandy a wicked serious look, and walks as casually as she can over to Thor and Steve, deftly dodging another one of Thor's excited flails.

"God, I'm so glad you overheard all that."

Bucky glances at Sandy curiously. "Are you?"

"Yeah. I would have never been able to convince her to do anything about her crush if you hadn't stepped in and confirmed everything I've been trying to tell her." Sandy sighs wistfully. "I love her but she is too shy sometimes."

Bucky lets out a short, sharp breath through his nose, bemused. "Steve, too. He's a little looser when he's drunk, but he's too dumb to make a move."

"It's like they were made for each other."

"I wouldn't go that far quite yet, but hey, if they end up just having fun for a night, I think it'll be good for them." He pauses briefly, concerned. "Right?"

"Oh, yeah, Sharon'll be fine," Sandy confirms. Bucky visibly relaxes. "What about you? You never did answer my question."

"Nobody for me, either."

Sandy hums. "I could try and set you up with someone, if you want? Fun fling or potential partner, whatever. What're you into? Guys? Girls? Something in between?"

"Oh, ah, I'm bi, but, uh," he stutters, failing to play cool. He clears his throat and laughs nervously. "It's cool, I'm cool. You don't have to do all that."

_Hell yes, Sam's got a shot._

"You're adorable when you're nervous, Bucko," she coos. However, she doesn't let him respond. "Welcome to the club." She holds up a fist, which he bumps with his own.

"So I know you and Sam have been friends for a long time, but—"

She knows exactly where he's going with that. "Nothing between us, promise. He's gay."

_Aha!_ Bucky's eyes widen slightly and he nearly chokes on his drink. He does a pretty good job of covering it up, however. The only reason Sandy even notices is because she's watching him closely.

"Oh? Cool, cool. Yeah, cool," he mumbles into his bottle.

From what she's able to glean, Bucky's much better at flirting, and Sam's okay enough with it on his own. So she'll just watch for a while and wait to see if she needs to step in. Who knows? Maybe the endless shit talking is just their special brand of flirting. Hopefully now that Bucky has confirmation… Actually…

"He thinks you're cute, by the way. Which, he's right. But he won't say it out loud. But I know him."

Bucky furrows his brows at her and parts his lips slightly to argue, but nothing comes out.

"I'm just saying," Sandy surrenders, throwing her hands up.

He sticks his bottle back to his mouth and says quietly, "Well, thanks for the heads up." He's blushing. _God, that's cute._

_Now_ she'll back off for the time being.

A few more minutes of casual conversation pass, and Sandy's grinning from ear to ear when Bucky calls his sister "a useless lesbian" while they watch Natasha shamelessly flirt with Rebecca. But Bucky refuses to step in because he's "trained her for this" and it's gonna be up to her whether she sinks or swims. Sandy assures him that Nat's a pro at reading people, so if Becca's interested, she'll be able to tell; she has no reservations about taking the initiative.

They end up stealing a few glances at Sharon and Steve as well, who are all by themselves now. They're very invested in whatever they're talking about. Sandy can see the heart eyes Sharon's making and she prays to several deities that Steve notices it, too.

Eventually, though, Sandy tears her eyes away from the two potential couples and ends up spotting Sam, Rhodey, Mack, and Trip off in a corner, lounging on Sandy's personal favorite of the plush couches and laughing about something. Briefly, she wonders why they're not in that sunken couch pit with most everyone else, but the conversation is fairly loud over there.

She nudges Bucky. "How about we give them a little privacy and go bug Sam, hm?" For added effect, she waggles her eyebrows, loving when he snorts and blushes slightly in response.

As they approach, Trip is of course the first to greet them. Her, specifically.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite gymnast."

"I'm a little disappointed I'm just your favorite _gymnast_, Trip."

"Girl, you're my favorite a lot of things." His smile is a little lopsided and a lot adorable. Sandy chalks up the slight rush of heat to the tips of her ears to alcohol. She _doesn't_ blush like a schoolgirl at compliments. She simply doesn't.

"Smooth recovery there." She winks at him and misses the sly look Bucky gives her.

She doesn't miss, however, how Mack looks suddenly exhausted. Really, she should feel sorry for putting him through this every time they're together, but she doesn't.

"I know none of us are sober, but can you two take that elsewhere?" Rhodey begs.

"Yeah, I'd really rather not vomit before I have to," Sam adds.

Sandy sighs. "Fine, fine, whatever. But just because I love you and it's your birthday, Rhodey darling."

Since the other four are too big and too comfortable on the couch to shift and make room for them, Bucky and Sandy take their seats elsewhere. Sandy thinks about plopping herself in Sam's lap, but she ultimately doesn't, choosing instead to cross her legs on the floor, back propped up against the ottoman. It's the perfect position for her to watch everyone while not being too obvious about it. Bucky slides down against the pillar opposite of her.

"You could stand to learn a thing or two, Wilson."

"From you, Triplett?" Sam barks out a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, okay."

"So it's not just me he's mean to?" Bucky asks. "Okay, good to know."

Since his mouth is full of his beer, Rhodey can only make a sound of disagreement at first. "See, that's just Sam's way of flirting."

"Man, shut the hell up."

Mack leans forward and tries to reroute the conversation. "So who else saw the Cal-USC game?"

"Oh, my god. What a wild fucking ending!" Bucky exclaims. "Two overtimes?"

"It really shouldn't have been that close. Cal's offense fucking sucks, and seriously, when was the last time USC was good?" Sandy lets out a dry chuckle. "That game was just a comedy of errors that somehow led to one of the most exciting finishes of the year. Maybe of the last few years?"

"You're totally fucking right," Trip says, leaning forward and mirroring Mack's stance, "but like, can you stop being so damn cool?"

Sandy laughs and intends to respond, stupidly blushing _again_, but Bucky's already talking. "I'm gonna throw in my vote that yes, she is awesome, but can we talk about last year's SEC Championship game? Cause that's also my vote for best ending in a while."

"Yes! The fuckin' Hail Mary with five seconds to go?" Sam snaps his fingers at Bucky. "Dude! How the hell did I forget about that?"

They quickly become enraptured in discussing their favorite games over the last decade. She notices Trip's gaze doesn't stay off her for long. Not a shock, really; he's been flirting right back with her while they work, and his texts have had only a slightly more flirty tone than his voice. She very much enjoys it because he is incredibly charming. Even when she revealed that she's only ever heard him called The Leech, he'd managed to somehow be even _more_ adorable in his irritation.

"_**You weren't supposed to tell him that!**_" Sam had texted her later that day. "_**OR that people used to call me Bird Boy! I hate you so much and I WILL kill you.**_"

Serves him right for hiding Trip from her.

Unfortunately, she can't give him her full attention tonight. She's gotta gauge tipsy Bucky and Sam's interactions too closely. And Sharon and Steve, who are sitting _very close_ to each other and looking all kinds of into each other.

See? All they needed was some liquid courage and a gentle nudge.

* * *

It's about two hours later when Sam's made his way into one of the guest rooms and Sandy's darted off briefly to grab a glass of water, Bucky following. Both for his own sake, and to keep her steady since she's very wobbly.

"I'm probably gonna have to buy you guys those steak dinners after all. Even though I never actually agreed to that shit," Trip mumbles once they're out of earshot.

"And why's that?" Mack asks quietly.

"Was I the only one who noticed she keeps looking at Bucky? Not that I blame her." He takes the last swig of his beer and scowls when he realizes it's empty. He won't openly admit that he's a little more miffed than usual at the turn of events.

The laugh from Rhodey is cut off when he realizes what he's doing and covers his mouth. "No, Trip, dude, that's not why." When he doesn't immediately go on, Mack and Trip give him a look that begs him to explain. "Okay, you haven't been paying attention. She's trying to set Sam and Bucky up. She's just watching them very carefully to see what she's gotta do. Watch Sam on Monday. If he looks kinda ticked off, it's 'cause he knows what she's doing."

"So as annoying as you two flirting is," Mack pats his shoulder reassuringly, "don't give up just yet, Trip."

"At least don't consider Bucky a rival. You still gotta compete with Bobbi."

"Thanks. You two are so helpful," Trip deadpans. Though he's slightly more hopeful.

Because he won't have to fork over some surely expensive steaks, that's all.

Not because he's got these butterflies in his stomach when she wiggles herself into the space between himself and Rhodey. Or because she eventually leans on his shoulder and stays there in the middle of their conversation that he doesn't really remember, besides that they both become so engrossed that they don't notice Mack or Rhodey leave. Or because she eventually falls asleep against his shoulder and looks kind of like an angel, long lashes settled against her smooth, flushed cheeks, ruby red lips slightly parted as she breathes evenly.

She's beautiful. He's known that from the moment he first saw her, but this moment is different somehow. Because she also looks vulnerable in a way he can't describe, but feels lucky to witness.

Anyway, this will all just result in like, one date or a one night stand or something, right? Nothing _too_ serious.

Right?

_Whatever, I'll figure this out when I can actually think straight._

He sighs and finally turns to look away at the rest of the dwindling crowd. Most of the patrons are passed out and draped over furniture or, in Thor's case, sprawled out on the thick Sherpa rug near the kitchen.

He has no idea what time it is and won't bother looking at his phone. It's in his butt pocket anyway, and fishing it out would disturb Sandy. Since most everyone else is staying the night and the owners have offered, Trip decides he'll stay here, too. Gives him an excuse to stay near her.


End file.
